Worth the Pain
by Gwendolyn James
Summary: She was afraid that if she lost her grip on what remained of him, she would wither up and die, empty and broken. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: For Ri, who gave me the idea, even though I highlydoubt this is what she expected me to do with it.

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She held the tiny baby in her arms, rocking him gently as she tried to soothe his frantic cries. He wailed as though the world was falling apart, as though everything in his small life was going wrong.

As it was in hers.

She hummed softly to him, a wordless tune her grandmother had once hummed to her, hoping that the child would soon drift off to sleep. He was a beautiful baby – big blue eyes, long lashes, and a soft patch of red hair on the top of his perfect little head. Her first grandchild and already her favorite.

Arthur would have loved him.

She choked back the tears that threatened – the tears that were never far away. She just couldn't seem to stop them from coming, and to be quite honest, sometimes she didn't _want_ to stop them. The tears were her security in a way, the proof that she was still feeling, still loving, still missing him. She had learned better than to try and hold them back – it only made it worse.

_It will be all right, Molly. The pain will go away eventually, you'll see. Just give it time_.

Lies. Pure, unadulterated lies. The pain would never go away, not as long as her heart still beat within her chest. She needed him, longed for him like a missing piece of her own soul, but he was gone, taken from her so suddenly by this unbearable war. Over thirty years of love and commitment swept away in one horrifying moment. She remembered it so clearly, so painfully.

It had been a beautiful spring morning; hardly a cloud in the sky and a gentle breeze that lifted the curtains and her spirits. She had had great plans for the day: work in the garden, catch up on her correspondence, clean the house, and maybe even take time to relax with a cup of tea and a good book. It was a day filled with opportunity and promise. However, a knock at the door interrupted her carefully constructed schedule. Who could be calling at this time of day?

One look at Remus' face had told her everything she'd needed to know – her greatest fear had been realized. She barely remembered asking who it was, which one had fallen, what had happened; she only remembered the terrifying sound of her breaking heart.

Arthur. Arthur was gone. The love of her life, her pillar of strength, her soul mate. He was gone, snatched away from her by another's cruel intentions, and there was nothing she could do about it. What was done was done, and she was alone. She would forever be alone.

_It's such a terrible thing. We're so sorry for your loss, Molly. _

Sorry? Why should they be sorry? They weren't the ones whose hearts had been ripped from their chests. They weren't the ones who still waited for him to come home before remembering he wouldn't. They weren't the ones who cried themselves to sleep every night, clinging desperately to the scent of his soap that still lingered on his pillow. No, they weren't sorry. She was the one who was sorry. Sorry that she hadn't kissed him twice the morning he left. Sorry that she had nagged him about the collection of rubber ducks he'd left in the bathtub. Sorry that she hadn't flooed him at work to tell him she loved him just one last time. She was sorry for a great many things, things that were now beyond her control.

She looked down at the child in her arms, now sleeping peacefully with his tiny thumb in his mouth. She loved him so much, more than she had even thought possible, and she wished more than ever that Arthur could have seen him, just for a moment, so that he could have loved the child too. Her heart ached – the familiar dull pain that was her constant companion – and hot tears flowed down her cheeks as she continued to rock back and forth, back and forth.

_It's been over a year, Molly. You should try to move on._

She'd heard those words – and others like them – but what good did they do her? They didn't make her stop crying. They didn't make her miss him less. They didn't bring him back. Nothing would ever bring him back.

She didn't want to move on. That was the plain and simple truth of it. She didn't want to let go of him, of the memories. How did one even go about such a thing? How did one begin to "move on" from a love so deep, so abiding? It was as much a part of her as the beating of her heart. She refused to let that go. She was afraid of what would happen if she did. She was afraid that she would forget him – his smile, his eyes, his scent, his touch. She was afraid that her memories would begin to fade, and with them, her very heart and soul. She was afraid that if she lost her grip on what remained of him, she would wither up and die, empty and broken.

Well, she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't forget him. She wouldn't let go. She wouldn't surrender the memories she had spent a lifetime building. She wouldn't relinquish their love to those who would have her move on. Instead, she would remember. She would remember every detail – every smile, every kiss, every touch, every heartbeat. She would remember every time he held her hand, every time he made her laugh, every time he said he loved her. Those were the memories that were worth the pain, and she would cling to them until her dying day.

She touched the soft cheek of her grandson and smiled her first real smile in a very long time. Maybe they were right – about some things, at least. Maybe the pain _would_ go away, but the memories wouldn't.

Some things were worth holding onto.

FIN


End file.
